


March of Steel

by YakFruit



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Ancient History, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YakFruit/pseuds/YakFruit
Summary: In Old Galar; before electricity, trains, and pokeballs, Emil Tanner's life is upended as petty kingdoms begin warring for dominance in the region.  Humans and Pokemon kill one another at the whim of their monarchs.  Meanwhile: Emil, his friends, and their pokemon companions struggle to survive while the world of their childhood burns in the fire of total war.
Kudos: 7





	1. Pilot

Emil Tanner was haunted by the fragrance of that cave. A perfume; carried upon the musky and oddly warm air that came out of that darkness. The narrow, angular fissure in the rockface a few kilometers from Stow-on-Side. To the northeast. 

Once, as a child of five or six, Emil joined his mother on a trip into the mountains. The memory was still clear to him, unique of all his memories of his own early childhood: His mother was dressed in her old tunic and leggings, the Greedent fur faded with age and use. It was work clothing, but Mother looked dangerous and wiry when wearing it. She was looking for the shiny rocks that, when melted down, made the best knives and arrowheads. And Emil was helping by bringing her every single stone he could find:

“Mum! Look! Look at this one, mum! Is it a good one?”

“Ah, no, Emil. That’s just a normal rock. I need the shiny ones.”

“Ok!..... Mum! Mum! Like this one, mum?!”

“That one’s not shiny, either. Look, like this one. See? The sun makes it shine. Find me these.”

“Like this?!”

“... Emil, go put all the stones you find in a line over there, and I’ll come look at them all when you are done.”

Mother was not the most patient; but, she had things to do and only so much daylight in which to do them. And Emil loved her. So off he went, determined to make the longest, best shiny rock line ever. Emil began searching nearby, then gradually wandered farther and farther as he exhausted the local area of cool-looking rocks. Meanwhile, his mother was using a wooden pick to dig deeper into the rubble which piled high at the base of steep cliffs. 

Just before he wandered out of sight, he turned and looked back at his mother a final time. Should he tell her that he was going further away? No. He should just surprise her with the best rocks. They couldn’t be that far away.

So he wandered off, as children do: along the ridgeline, down the slope, into a copse of trees- not picking up stones but looking for the shiniest and best. Emil traced a cliff face, looking for promising rocks, and found instead a berry tree. It was covered with ripe pecha berries. The best!

Stones forgotten, Emil realized his mother would actually prefer a snack over more rocks. He searched for a stick, found one, and began smacking berries out of the tree. The plump berries fell roughly to the stony ground, bursting open slightly from a lack of grassy cushion. Emil gathered them up, his small arms filling with the swollen fruits.

Something heavy and furry slammed into the top of Emil’s head, driving him to the ground and squishing the gathered berries into his chest. The juice soaked into his wool tunic. Emil screamed in surprise and fright, the hairy thing scratching at his head. He rolled over in panic and swiped at whatever it was. His arm struck a warm, fleshy thing which chittered in anger.

It was a Skwovet! Its normally bulging cheeks were taut with anger, and its fluffy, curled tail twitched in agitation. 

Chit!Chit!Chit!Chit!

It wasn’t a particularly dangerous pokemon, but it was more than a match for a six-year-old boy. Emil nervously edged away from the creature, its ferocity and surprise already demoralizing him. He still had three berries in his hands, so he turned and ran. He looked over his shoulder to see if the skwovet was chasing him. It wasn’t-

But his left foot didn’t find solid earth. Emil’s world turned into a kaleidoscope of dirt and sky as he tumbled down a steep ridge. He tucked himself to a ball around the mangled pecha berries crushed against his chest. And for a seemingly endless moment, he rolled. His shoulders and back striking rocks painfully as he went.

The ground flattened and he came to a stop. Emil sat up, dizzy, in pain, scared. He began to cry- to wail.

“Mummy!! Help! Mum!”

Emil’s voice echoed off the ridges which now surrounded him on all sides. They looked tall and scary. He was trapped in a big hole! 

But his mother didn’t come. He must have wandered too far away. And after long moments of wailing and screaming, his throat became sore, and that seemed to hurt more than his body. So his crying came to a hiccuping stop. Emil wiped his wet eyes and looked more closely at his immediate surroundings.

The ridge he rolled down met three other steeper slopes at the base of the depression in which he now found himself. And there was a narrow opening into darkness there. A cave. The ground all around was rocky and full of gravel, but rutted out by water which likely ran down all four slopes and into the cave. 

Emil sniffled as he stared at the yawning blackness of the cave. Something smelled good. Really good. Like when Mother was making fresh bread. Emil stood, his eyes still riveted on the cave entrance. What was down there? He was filled with the desire to see for himself.

He started to walk towards the cave, still clutching the smashed and grimy pacha berries to his chest. The smell was so good. He wanted to get closer to the source- to go into that cave. 

“Emil! Stop!”

Emil’s head turned instinctually to the sound of his mother’s voice. She was above him on the ridge, and now that he was calmer, the hill didn’t look all that steep or all that high. Perhaps his fall had not been so severe as he’d thought. He looked away from his mother and back at the cave. He didn’t feel fear, just curiosity. And desire.

“Mom! What’s in there?”

“Don’t! Don’t go in there, Emil!” 

Mother’s voice was shrill and full of authority. Emil froze instinctively.

“Stay right where you are! I’m coming down!”

She carefully picked her way down the ridge, crawling down backward, sort of like climbing down a ladder. She continuously told Emil to stay still, so he did. The cave still smelled good, but the force of his mother’s presence kept him still. She was using that tone that meant he could get in real trouble for disobeying. But he could… he could still… he could at least throw the berries in there!

Emil threw the three berries into the darkness of the cave, one after the other. The thought of why he was doing that never crossed his mind. He just wanted to do it. Needed to do it, if he could go no further.

Then his mother snatched him up onto her hip and she quickly moved back to the ridge and began hiking back up, struggling with Emil’s weight. He felt comforted in his mother’s arms, but his eyes were still riveted to the cave, and the smell was still thick in his nose. That wonderful smell!

“What’s in there, mum?”

“Something dangerous, Emil! You must never go there. Promise me!”

“But-”

“Promise me!”

“Okay,” said Emil, but… 

...what was in there? He didn’t stop looking at the cave until his mother carried him to the top of the ridge and it vanished from sight.


	2. Chapter 2

The narrow cleft of that cave stood before him. That smell- that wonderful smell- it filled him. Calling him forward. He walked towards it, then stopped on the threshold. The same place he always stopped- keeping his promise to his mother. He would go. He would smell. He would look. But he never went inside. But this time- he walked into the darkness. He walked until there was nothing but black. And then before him, there opened two gleaming red eyes.

Emil woke to the flutter of Rookiedee outside the window of his bedroom. The small birds were chattering noisily to each other on the roof, rustling in the thatch which kept the Tanner home dry. In fact, they were probably stealing thatch for their nests, an annual tradition of thievery. Father said the event marked the first day of spring. Mother said it marked the day Father began the annual roof repair. 

Sunlight leaked through the dried straw of his window blind. It was hours after sunrise. He’d been allowed to sleep in- one of the many benefits of his birthday. The smell of the cave faded from his nose, as did the memory of the dream. Instead, he smelled… bacon. Mother was frying Swinub! Emil tossed aside the fur blankets and stood, his feet and weight causing the floorboards to creak loudly.

“Good timing!” yelled his mother from downstairs. “Breakfast is just ready.”

The Tanner home was a small one. Emil’s bedroom was an addition to the single-floor cottage Father built so he could marry Mother. Grandfather wouldn’t marry his daughter off to a: ‘flea-infested shepherd who slept in the hills’: Father always liked to say that in a slightly nasally voice- which Emil assumed was supposed to be Grandfather’s voice. But Emil had never met the man. He’d died when Emil was a baby. Still, Mother seemed to like the imitation. She would laugh and then look a little sad.

Emil thought Father had made the floor of his room creaky on purpose. It made sneaking out of the house at night almost impossible. That was probably Father’s plan, all along. Emil’s friends mostly feared their fathers because they would catch a whipping if they stepped out of line. Emil’s Father wasn’t like that. Father was clever, and anytime Emil even started to get an idea about how to misbehave in some way, he quickly discovered Father had already foiled the attempt long before- like a bell-on-a-wire attached to the sweets cupboard, or a squeaky floor built right into his bedroom. And then when the attempt was inevitably discovered, it was extra chores for a week.

But chores and punishments and clever traps were not in Emil’s future today! It was his 17th birthday! Today, he would get his first spear- so he could train all year for the Ritual on his 18th. A real spear! As long and as sharp as all the adults carried! Emil slipped into his wool loincloth, then tossed his Thievul fur poncho over his body, tying it firmly around his waist with a soft-leather strap. Emil headed downstairs into the kitchen where Mother was setting a wooden plate of bacon and eggs on the table.  
“Gods, the whole house shakes when you come down those stairs!” said Mother with an annoyed tone.

“Sorry, mum,” said Emil. He sat down at the table, eager for the rare treat of bacon.

She sighed and stood over Emil while he started to eat. He felt her hand atop his head, scruffing his hair. “It’s not your fault. You’re just big, like your father.” She returned to the kitchen prep-table and began working on whatever she was working on. It looked like dough of some kind.

“Where is Father?” said Emil around a mouthful of eggs.

“He said you should meet him at the blacksmith- Hey!”

Emil shoveled the rest of the eggs into his mouth, snatched up the last two strips of bacon, and bolted from the table, out the door, into the sunshine.

“He said to bring your bow!” came Mother’s voice from inside the house behind him. 

Emil immediately swerved around, re-entered the house, sprinted up the stairs ((“Gods!” shouted Mother.)), grabbed his bow and quiver, and then headed back down and outside once more.

***

The main portion of Stow-on-Side was closer to the base of the valley. Emil’s home was perched on a ridgeline where it commanded a grand view of the valley. Just below the Tanner’s cob cottage, strips of grassland terraces nestled against the mountainside. Wooloo grazed in small groups all along them. Further below was the main cluster of cob buildings which made up Stow-on-Side proper; the largest being the Chieftain's home, where Uncle Allister reigned as the King of the Coast. The Coastal Kingdom consisted of all of Stow-on-Side and affiliated villages, and all of Ballonlea and Turrfield and their villages, those lands being further north and south along the coast, respectively.

Meanwhile, Father and Mother were hunters and tanners, but they also tended to their herd of Wooloo. The slow-witted and relatively docile pokemon could be harvested for wool, hide, and meat- depending on the need. Emil’s childhood chore (and bore) was to watch the herd and occasionally shoot his bow at marauding Zigzagoons ((that was fun, but rare))- or run to Father if a Linoone showed up ((even more rare.))

But today he would graduate from arrows that bounced off Zigzagoon hide and get his spear! He wouldn’t even mind watching the herd for a whole week if it gave him the chance to hunt a Zigzagoon for real! Or maybe even a Liepard! Father always gifted Mother with Liepard pelts for her fancy clothing. Emil could give Joy one, too! She would look beautiful in purple.

Emil sprinted down the mountainside, taking the strange path only he knew: a rain-washed ravine which turned a steep cliff into a shallow ramp- but only in one spot. A gap in a bramble patch. A hole in a stone wall. Before the sun rose much further into the sky, Emil arrived at the blacksmith’s hut. It was easy to identify from the black smoke perpetually pouring from a large chimney. Father was sitting on a bench outside, whittling a chunk of wood into what appeared to be a small Growlithe.

Emil stopped in front of his father. He was a broad, thickly built man who was surprisingly delicate with his hands- or so he’d overheard Mother telling some of her friends to a great deal of giggling. Emil inherited his Father’s curly red hair and his chin, but Emil’s eyes and mouth were his mother’s. Mother claimed it was the perfect mix. Father said Emil had a thigh-spreading face. Emil wasn’t sure what Father meant by that, but Mother always slapped him when she heard him say it.

“Is it ready?” blurted Emil. He came skidding to a stop before his father.

Father didn’t look up at him, but continued to whittle away at his project. Emil felt antsy with excitement, but he waited. He’d learned long ago that the fastest way to get anything from Father was to ask once- and once only. Emil quietly watched his father brush wood shavings from his leather poncho.

“Boy,” said Father, scowling through his red beard, his blue eyes flashing up at Emil briefly before returning to his whittling. “Yer late.” 

“Yes, Father.” Emil waited in silence again. He started to feel a bit of dread. Why was Father being particularly gruff this morning? Had Emil misbehaved in some way? He searched his memory for any transgressions he may have committed.

Finally, after an agaonizing pause, Father set his knife down into his lap. He extended a big hand towards Emil.

“Your bow.”

Emil placed his shortbow into his father’s grasp, gleefully saying goodbye to his childhood weapon. Father set the shortbow to the side. He then curled a muscular arm around the doorway of the blacksmith hut. Excitement shot through Emil’s body again. The spear! It was ready! He was going to get it right now!

Father pulled out a bow from behind the doorway, then held it forward for Emil to take. His blue eyes burrowed into Emil’s. Emil’s heart plummeted into his gut, but he took the offered weapon. It was slightly larger than his previous bow, but it was strangely made. Emil had never seen anything like this weapon: instead of being one long curve of wood, it was bent back on itself on both ends.

“What-?” began Emil.

“It’s a bow they now make in Kanto,” said Father, killing the question on Emil’s lips. “They call it a recurve bow because of the double curve of the wood. It’s yours now. Treat it well. That cost ten Woolin hides.”

Ten hides! That was almost half of what they harvested from the herd in an entire year! For one bow! Was it that special? Even if the ocean ships from Kanto only came to Galar once a year, that still seemed very expensive.

“It’s… the only one?” said Emil.

“Not for long,” said Father, his eyes returning to his whittling. “Your Uncle traded for it so we could learn how to make it. We’ve learned what we can from the thing, so now he gifts it to you.”

A bit of hope for his spear returned to Emil. So this was not his Father’s gift to him, but his Uncle’s. That meant Father’s traditional gift of his Seventeenth-Year Spear was yet to come.

“Take that bow and hunt for our dinner, boy. Your old arrows will work fine- if you’re careful.”

Emil hesitated. This was risky. But he couldn’t help himself. “Father, my spear-?”

Father’s eyes flashed angrily at him. “Show me you’ve mastered your old skills, then we may start on new ones. Now, go.”

That was clear dismissal. To stay would invite disaster. Emil went.


End file.
